Not A Mirage

H did not have a clue when the call or chat conversation had ended (like most other things in his life). But he realised well in time that he had overslept and missed breakfast. Since his work hours were not the usual 9-5 routine, his parents normally left for their daily grind by the time he got up. But, today was an exception. On emerging from his room around 12, he noticed a sticky note at the dining table from his mother: ‘Don’t forget to have your lunch, and heat it before you eat.’ Like most mere mortals of his ilk, H did suffer from forgetfulness. But till now, it had been merely occasional and limited to a few bouts here and there. In the last few days and months, the frequency had been going up. And everyone but him had started taking note of it. H had started becoming listless, impatient and losing track of conversations too often. Not that he was particularly known as a great jabberwocky, but his increasingly monosyllabic stance to things in general had taken his parents, if not anyone else, by some alarm (they still did not want to ring it).

But in his subconscious strata of the brain, H knew the real story. All his mental faculties were no focused on the virtual, rather than the real. He had created his own Second Life, and was freely dabbling in it, maybe for the sake of an experiment which had started to overstep its boundaries. His world of social networking was the arena where he felt more confident to interact, and more gullible at the same time, because of the invisible garb of innocence he always wore. And the frequent pangs of happy times spent with his ex-girlfriend were contributing to it in a great amount. Though H had crossed the age of teen angst, the hormones still used to act up once in a while.

As he was figuring his next move, he was looking at the pile of uneaten fruits on the table – his breakfast that could not be. He was thinking of a suitable explanation to give to Mom, who would surely call him to ask about this when he was at work. This did annoy him mildly, but he had learnt to ignore it, ever since she had been promoted as the vice-principal of the school she had been teaching in for the last 15 years.  Her work hours had now become longer than his own, and she was not at an age when the load could be integrated into her system effortlessly. H’s maternal grandmother’s death a few months back was not helping things either. Didun  (as H called his grandma)  was a sort of mental sink for H and his mother. And she seemed to have a solution for everything. For someone who did not have a sneeze throughout her life, the sudden arrival of leukaemia to take her away was more than a rude shock for H and his family. Hence, H now knew that he, more than anyone else, would have to be steady for his mom’s sake.

He decided to nibble on the banana, while he switched on some peppy music on his computer. After all, his daily dose of heady music (apart from his back exercises) could not be missed. Half an hour after he barely managed to finish the banana and was done with his exercises, he stole a glance at the newspaper. “Right, the headlines are in place,” he said to himself. Working on the newsdesk of a paper with no off on weekends was not the kind of things people his age exactly looked forward to it. But it gave him yet another sort of satisfaction which he only he could fathom (excluding the gushing from relatives when they heard the name of the organisation he was working in).

H was wondering whether to call back his so-called love interest or not. But she would already be at work, even though she always made time to talk to him. Even then, he wanted to let things be for a few more hours at least, so the cesspool of thoughts in his as well as her head could clear up a bit.  So, after his bath, he decided to watch a serious-plot Hollywood movie instead. After all, the broadband internet connection and newly-acquired external hard drive had to be put to good use. This may not seem a normal transition for someone who starts the day with peppy music. But so were H and his mood swings. As the movie was starting, H stole a few seconds to check his Twitter timeline. Mihir and Sulbha had posted a picture of themselves from a party last night. The happiness awas oozing on the couple’s faces, which everyone had taken note and was complimenting them on it. He decided to contribute his two pennies too, in spite of the mild jealousy that recently-broken up individuals feel by looking at happy couples at times. He also noticed a sudden increase in his follower count. Had he accidentally spoken about his feelings for his Twitter friend publicly? Or was he just hallucinating? But then, he looked again at the follower count. And surely, this was not a mirage.